Witch (8 page)

But maybe that was the point? Perhaps I was so sick and tired of listening to him – trying to please him and make him happy, that I seized every opportunity that came along to disappoint him. Why did he have to be so controlling – why couldn’t he let me make my own mistakes? But he was a good man, wasn’t he? After all, wasn’t he just looking out for me? What would I have done without him yesterday? But I knew in my heart why I had gone back to the farm while on duty, why I’d had sex with Michael just moments ago. Because it was something I could chose or
chose not to do. Maybe Michael was right? Perhaps I was crazy and had issues.

Michael must have heard me sobbing, because there was a gentle knock at the bathroom door. “Hey, Sydney, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I lied, sniffing back my tears behind the towel.

“Look, I didn’t mean to upset you,” he said.

“You didn’t upset me.”

“Why are you crying then?” he pushed gently.

Wiping the tears away with the towel, I went to the door and opened it. Michael had put on his jeans. As I went to brush past him, he took me in his arms. “I didn’t mean to hurt you when I said I thought you had issues,” he said, looking down into my bloodshot eyes.

“It wasn’t that which upset me,” I said, slipping from his arms and going to the living room. I stood by the window and looked out onto the empty street and the sea in the distance.

“What is it, then?” he asked, standing behind me, but keeping a respectful distance.

“Everything, I guess,” I whispered. “I killed four people yesterday.”

“That was an accident,” he said.

“Was it?”

“What do you mean by that?” he asked.

“Nothing,” I quickly said. Turning to face him, I added, “Have you told anyone what happened between us yesterday?”

No,” he said right back. “Who would I tell?”

“Your father?”

“Hey, dad, while you were out today, me and that pretty-looking cop drank some of your whiskey and then got it on across your kitchen table. I don’t think so, do you?” he said, cocking his eyebrow at me. “Anyway, that wasn’t what caused the accident.”

“I killed them,” I whispered.

“That cart and horse was a menace. The whole family were,” Michael said.

“Did you know them then?” I asked.

“No, not really,” Michael said, turnin
g away, picking up his shirt from the floor and putting it on. “The old guy was as crazy as a loon. He talked kinda strange.”

I wanted to tell Michael how the old man had called me a witch, but Woody had said we all needed to be singing from the same hymn sheet, so I pushed the thought away, knowing I shouldn’t discuss what happened out on the road. I just wanted to satisfy myself that Michael would keep
our
secret.

“I had a nightmare about that old man last night,” I whispered, turning to look out of the window again. The sea was glistening beneath the pale afternoon sun. “I dreamt about all of them.”

“What happened is going to play on your mind for a while,” he said.

“They were chasing me and I fell down a well and couldn’t get out,” I explained, suddenly feeling cold. I wrapped my arms about me.

“A well?” Michael asked, sounding confused.

“Yes,” I said thoughtfully, staring out at the sea. “I guess it symbolises me falling into the massive hole I’ve dug for myself.”

“I guess,” he said.

“My father saved me, though, like he always does,” I said, not knowing if I was still talking to Michael or just talking out loud in an attempt to explain it all to myself. “Maybe my father’s right and all I need is some rest?”

“Look, if it would make you feel better, I could always stay with you tonight,” Michael said.

“Thanks,” I said, turning to smile at him. “But I’ll be okay. I just want a day or two to myself. Perhaps what we did today wasn’t such a good idea after all.”

“Do you regret it?” he asked, looking a little confused.

“I don’t know what I feel anymore,” I said.

Michael came towards me, and stroking the fringe off of my forehead, he said, “Why don’t you get some rest over the next couple of days and then give me a call – if you want to, that is.”

“Why did you really come looking for me today?” I asked him, looking up into his eyes.

“Like I said, I can’t get you out of my head, Officer Sydney Hart. I’ve never met anyone like you before – you’re kinda intense.”

“Is that a good thing?” I asked him.

“I’m not sure, but I’ll let you know,” he said, smiling. He kissed me gently on the forehead and headed for the door.

With his back to me, I said, “Where did you go?”

“Sorry?” he asked, looking over his shoulder at me.

“You said you left town ten years ago,” I reminded him. “Where did you go?”

“Into the Army. But I had enough of that life and thought it was time to come home.” Looking me up and down, Michael added, “And I’m so glad I did. Call me.”

Then he was gone. I looked back out of the window and watched him disappear up the road. It was only when he was out of sight I realised I didn’t have his number.
Maybe that was for the best
, I thought, and turned away.

Chapter Eleven

I spent the rest of the afternoon curled up on the sofa reading. It would have been nice to have some Adele playing in the background, but I was still unable to find my iPod anywhere and my mini iPad was too big for the dock in the corner of my room. I tried to clear my mind of the accident, my father, and Michael.

About 4 p.m., I received a call from my friend, Lisa. She didn’t live in town, but some miles away in Penzance, which I was glad of today. Breathlessly she told me she had read in a local paper that Officer Sydney Hart had been involved in a car accident which had resulted in four deaths.

“Why didn’t you call to let me know what had happened?” Lisa asked, sounding confused, hurt and worried on the other end of the phone. “I’ve been trying to get you on your mobile, but the thing is switched off.”

“I’m okay,” I tried to assure her.

“Are you hurt?” she gasped, ignoring my attempts to calm her.

“I’m okay,” I told her again. “Just a small cut on my forehead and that’s about it.

“You poor thing,” she sighed. “I’m going to come over.”

“No, don’t,” I put in. “I’m okay, honestly.”

“I’ll bring some wine and some...” she started.

“No,” I said again. “I just want to be on my own for a few days. I need to figure some things out.”

“Well, if you’re sure?”
Lisa said, sounding hurt again.

“I’m sure,” I said softly. “I’m still a bit shook up about what happened. It’s nothing personal, Lisa. Just give me a few days and I’ll come over to Penzance for the day.”

“Well, you know where I am if you need me or want to chat about anything,” she said.

“I know,” I whispered, wondering if I was doing the right th
ing by shutting people out. I knew what would happen. Lisa would come over. We’d sink a couple of bottles of wine, I would get all upset about what had happened, then probably tell her everything. I couldn’t’ risk that – not yet – probably not ever. The secret of what my father had done – how he had covered for me – would have to stay our secret forever – and Michael’s.  “I promise I’ll call you, just give me a few days.”

“Okay,” Lisa
whispered, that note of concern still in her voice.

I hung up the phone. I got up from off the sofa and started to pace the room. Lisa had said that she’d read about the accident in the local newspaper. How had the accident been reported? I wondered. How much had been written? Was it a big story, or just a few lines on page four or five? Needing to know what had been reported about the accident I pulled on my trainers, threw on a coat, and left my apartment.

With the collar up about my throat, and head bent forward, I made my way through the small town towards the local supermarket. The streets were quiet and what few people did pass by, I wondered if they were looking at me. Most of them knew me to be Sergeant Richard Hart’s daughter. Most knew me as the pisshead who had come good with the help and support of her loving father. Who could blame the young girl for getting into trouble, what, with her mother running off with a man half her age and all? I knew that’s what they thought. I had heard the gossip and the rumours. I was the problem child who had been saved by my loving father. I had just been putting those things behind me – proving my worth in town by becoming a cop, when the accident happens. And now that it was in the local paper, new rumours, new lines of gossip would be created – true or untrue. What the people of the town didn’t know, they simply made up. That was the problem of living in such a small place – everyone knew you and your business.

I reached the supermarket, and as quickly as I could, I took a copy of the local newspaper, placed the money on the counter, and left the store without as much as a ‘Hello’ or ‘Goodbye’. Feeling like a criminal, and with the paper tucked under my arm, I walked as quickly as I could back to my apartment. It was now dusk, the sky turning dark overhead, making the waves that rushed the shore look more like ripples of black tar than seawater.

I turned into my street and with my head still hung low, and the collar of my coat brushing against my cheeks, I hurried towards my apartment. I was no more than a few yards away, and fishing my keys from my pocket, when I looked up to discover someone bent over against my front door. Stopping dead in my tracks, I watched from a safe distance as whoever it was opened the letterbox and peered into my apartment. In the dim light of dusk, it was hard to tell who the figure was or even if they were male or female. With their back to me, all I could see for sure was that they were dressed all in black.

Chapter Twelve

Slowly, I took my police badge from the back of my jeans. The figure stood at my front door, and I watched as they slipped one of their hands into the letterbox. Wearing the black clothes, whoever they were, reminded me of the family I had killed out on the road. Was it someone related to them? I wondered, my heart skipping a beat. Had they read the article in the newspaper? Lisa had said my name had been printed in the paper. Did this person know what had really happened? Impossible, there were no witnesses. Perhaps they had come to speak with me – find out about how their relatives had died. Maybe they had come to have some kind of confrontation.

With my police badge curled in my fist, I crept up behind the figure as it withdrew its hand from my letterbox, and crouched down to peer through the narrow opening and into my apartment.

Taking a deep breath and standing behind the figure dressed all in black, I said, “Can I help you?”

The figure jumped up and then wheeled around to face me.

“Gee, you scared me half to death,” the young man said, his eyes wide and dark.

“What do you think you are doing?” I snapped, staring at him. He was about my age, maybe a year or two older, but no more. He was clean-shaven with a nice face. He wasn’t what you would call handsome or even good-looking, but there was something. His nose looked as if perhaps it had been broken once or twice, but it gave him a kind of rugged look. His hair was black, cut short and as dark as his eyes. He was tall, perhaps six foot or more, and his build was lean.

“I was trying to post this through your letterbox, but it looks kind of expensive and I didn’t want to break it,” the stranger said, holding out his hand. 

I looked down to see that he was holding out my iPod. “Where did you find that?” I asked with a frown, taking it from him.

“You left it at the station,” he said.

“At the station?”

“You know, the police station, where you work,” he said, with a smile.

Eyeing him, I said, “So if I left it at the police station, how come you have it?”

As if reading the confusion on my face, he said, “I’m sorry, let me explain. I’m Vincent – the new recruit. We haven’t met yet. I only arrived yesterday. Fresh out of the box as some might say.”  As he spoke, he unzipped his black coat to reveal his uniform underneath. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“No, that’s okay,” I sighed, feeling relieved that he was a fellow officer and not anyone connected to the dead members of that family.

“Look, do you want to come in for a minute?” I said, not wanting to stand outside in the street in case any of the townsfolk wanted to enquire how I was doing now that the news was out.

“A cup of tea would be great,” Vincent smiled, rubbing his hands together as if he were cold.

“I didn’t say anything about tea,” I half-smiled back at him and opened the door. 

I took off my coat and dropped it onto the sofa with the newspaper. I would read it once Vincent had gone. Taking my iPod, I slotted it into the dock and switched it on.

“How about playing
Ho Hey
by
The Lumineers
,” Vincent said, glancing about the living room. “I love that song.”

“How do you know I have that track?” I asked.